Chapter Text
The sky was the clearest blue of summer that Felicity could imagine. She lay in the tall, wild grass of the sparse wood between a ravaged village and a small river that joined with the larger Chionthar to flow out into the Sea of Swords. For this moment, she clung to the lazy buzz of bumblebees that ambled through the air nearby.
Or tried to; Karlach, however, took to tearing blades of grass from the soil one by one. The intermittent sound of ripping intruded on the druid’s attempts to meditate.
“I’m curious, Felicity…”
At Gale’s address, she closed her eyes, accepting that seeking to use this short rest as a sliver of tranquility was futile. “Hm?”
“It’s an interesting name for a tiefling.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “It’s ordinary enough.”
“In the Common tongue, yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “In the Grove, we met Zevlor, Alfira, Bex… Names that, I assume, have origins in Infernal, although I must admit I am not well-versed in the language of fiends.”
Felicity sighed and shifted to sit up and met his curious face with a stern look of her own. “You must not know many tieflings.”
“I’ve made several tiefling acquaintances-”
“I’m guessing it’s a Virtue Name,” Karlach interrupted gently.
Felicity nodded, appreciating the other tiefling’s understanding. When Gale looked between them, his eyes clearly burning with curiosity, she patiently answered his wordless question. “Some tieflings choose to adopt one over their birthname, usually when they reach adolescence or adulthood. It is a personal decision; the name is usually what the tiefling wishes to embody over the course of their existence. Like Ecstasy, Ambition, or Valour.”
“I see.”
Astarion scoffed. “You chose Felicity? How…sweet.” The subtle curl of his lip, though, said that he felt it was anything but.
She couldn’t be bothered by his disapproval; his predictable contrariness even amused her. Felicity shrugged, smiling slightly. “And what name would you choose for yourself, then?”
The elf leaned back on his hands and examined his nails. “Oh, I wouldn’t,” he drawled. “It just screams desperate and insecure.”
The faint grin fell from her face to be replaced with a hard stare. “Maybe I was.”
Her candid honesty struck him; for an instant, he froze. But it was only an instant, for then he huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m so glad you’ve blossomed into…” Astarion gestured vaguely at her. “…this. Mother and Father must be proud.”
“Why do you have to be such a damp rag?” Karlach shot him a scathing glare before saying to Felicity, “I think it suits you delightfully. And you don’t need to explain a damned thing.”
“Indeed not,” she agreed with a small chuckle. Karlach’s defence was unnecessary but admirable; in another life, Felicity thought, the barbarian would have made a good friend. “Are we rested up? There are only a few short hours before sundown.”
The four headed deeper among the trees; with only a couple of nebulous leads that might rid them of the parasites in their brains, their only course of action was to explore the region and see what there was to be seen. Lae’zel insisted upon a nearby crèche, where a device called a zaith’isk would ‘purify’ them – but she would not elaborate further, simply proclaiming her faith in Vlaakith, which left Felicity uneasy. She knew nothing of the githyanki god-queen, and she could not bring herself to blindly trust in forces she didn’t understand.
To her, the more promising solution was to find the missing Archdruid. Although she didn’t know the name Halsin, those who knew him called him a renowned healer. Druidic magic was something she understood and believed in. But the man was last seen captured by the encroaching army of goblins…and there was no telling if he was still alive.
On the whole, questions vastly outweighed answers.
An odd, metallic sound jolted Felicity out of her thoughts. It was so soft she wasn’t sure she had heard it at all, until Astarion – with his keen, elven senses – perked up as well. She froze, staring at the path ahead.
He and Karlach took the lead and the two spellcasters hung back as they slowly approached, weapons in hand and incantations on their lips. From between the trees, a white shape trotted to and fro – the sound was the jangling of a collar.
Karlach lowered her axe with a soft smile. “Oh, it’s just a do-”
“Amicus animalis!” A wash of blue light showered over the druid as she released a spell. It was indeed a dog; a handsome shepherd with a snow-white coat paced in a circle, around and around. But her reaction wasn’t that it was just a dog – the strange behaviour set Felicity’s nerves on edge.
Her invocation made Gale flinch. “What was that for?” he complained.
She felt a twinge of guilt; she hadn’t considered that he might have been paying her movements close attention. “Something’s wrong with that dog, and I’m going to ask what.”
Felicity’s heart lurched as she saw the source of the animal’s frantic movements: the body of a man, recently mauled, lay in the dirt at the centre of the dog’s aimless pacing – presumably his handler.
The dog stopped in his tracks to bare his teeth at the druid as she approached. “Keep moving, stranger,” he warned. “Quietly.”
Felicity lowered herself into a crouch. “You seem lost,” she murmured. “What happened here?”
She was met with a snarl, “I told you to go!”
She held up a hand when she heard Karlach shift her weight behind her. Although the dog was young and strong, she did not feel threatened; there was no malice in his canine voice. A silver charm hung from his collar, stamped with many letters. In a momentary glimpse, she made out a single word.
“Scratch,” Felicity said. The dog’s stance relaxed somewhat in recognition, a sign she took as encouragement. “That is your name, isn’t it? It’s alright.”
“You know my name?” Scratch’s tail wagged. “Interesting. A predator wouldn’t care to learn it. Still, you should go.” He waved his muzzle in the direction of the dead man. “My friend is injured. He needs rest.”
She looked at the body. Oh, you poor thing…
Felicity’s eyes stung as she swallowed a lump in her throat. “I don’t think he’s going to wake up.”
“Of course he will,” the dog insisted. “And then we’ll return home.”
His confidence made her gut twist. She knew it was hopeless to convince him otherwise. With a gentle motion, Felicity held out her hand. “If he doesn’t wake up, follow my scent. It is safer in my camp than in these woods.”
“If it comes to that…” Scratch took a tentative step forward and sniffed at her fingers. “I may. Thank you.”
From the corner of her eye, Felicity noticed Astarion kneel beside the body. “We are going to take a look at your friend,” she said hastily, before her companion offended the loyal dog. “Perhaps we will find what did this to him.”
“Be careful; they are loud, strong, foul-smelling creatures,” he replied, his lip curling with anger.
Felicity got back to her feet, eyes narrowing at Astarion’s hastiness. “Gnolls,” she told them, switching back to the Common language.
“Ugh,” Karlach grunted. “Ugly things.”
“Luckily, we will hear them before we see them,” Gale said.
Felicity gestured for the group to move along. “Let’s leave the poor creature in peace. He believes his master is asleep.”
Karlach made a sympathetic noise. “Can’t we bring him with us?”
“He knows my smell. It is up to him.”
Felicity upended her pouch of herbs, dumping the contents on a square of linen in a bout of frustration. There were items missing from the collection – she was sure of it. Back home, all of her ingredients were kept in one place. Here, in the middle of nowhere and constantly on the move, she knew that her diligence was giving way to stupid mistakes.
Over by the fire, Gale was crouched before the small, impromptu pantry that Wyll had constructed of disassembled barrels and crates. With a final grumble to herself, Felicity refilled the pouch and approached him.
“Do you have Mugwort over there?”
Gale looked up at her in surprise, then narrowed his eyes. “It shouldn’t be in here… This is for food.”
“Well, adventuring doesn’t always lend itself to methodical organization,” Felicity chuckled. “I am known to misplace a thing or two on occasion. I think I had a few stems in my hand when I grabbed an orange earlier…”
With a frown, he scanned the incongruous assortment of fruits, legumes, breads, and meats that adorned the uneven ‘shelves’. He put his hands on his hips. “There is. And Bullywug Trumpets, and Weavermoss – honestly, Felicity, you can’t-”
Gale rounded on her, brandishing a bundle of Autumncrocus. “Aren’t these poisonous? Why are they with our food?”
“…My mistake.” She shrugged sheepishly and stepped forward to take the offending ingredients. “I must have set them down and…forgotten to retrieve them. No one would have died.”
“There are fates worse than death,” he grumbled. “Please take more care in where you store non-foodstuffs. I have enough trouble throwing together meals with…this.” Gale’s nose crinkled as he surveyed the array of foraged and stolen goods.
Felicity clapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin. “And you do a superb job of it. Can I lend you a hand once I properly tuck these away?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra paring knife…”
Under Gale’s instruction, she realized just how woefully unskilled she was in the ways of cooking. In her cabin, the druid had no patience for it; Felicity made herself simple roasts and stews, and she had thought there wasn’t much more to it than that. But she was quickly proven wrong when the wizard took her wrist to correct how she should mind the direction of a vegetable’s grain before chopping into it haphazardly. She did not retain many of these finer details as they worked, but Gale’s long-winded explanations amused her. It took her mind off of their grim reality.
“I don’t think I should go with you into the Goblin Camp.” Felicity didn’t look up from the onion in her hands, even when she felt Gale’s eyes on her.
“I don’t agree with you, but I am listening.”
She chewed on her words for a moment. “I am thinking of everyone’s strengths and weaknesses; I fall somewhere between healer, fighter, and offensive mage; adaptable, but not the strongest in any one. If you are walking into a battle, you should be backed by the best.”
Gale set down his knife and leaned against the stack of crates that made up their countertop to eye her.
His skeptical opposition forced Felicity to abandon her task; she mirrored his stance and crossed her arms. “Let’s hear it.”
He snorted softly, a grin tugging at his lips. “And who will prevent Astarion from burying his blade into someone’s chest, or Lae’zel from cleaving head from shoulders? Surely, you don’t expect me to be their voice of reason.”
“They are not children.”
“No,” he agreed, “but you are the spine of this merry band. You have kept heads on straight and eyes ahead. You know as well as I do that some of our company are one sour mood away from tearing at each other’s throats – but none are itching to have a go at yours. Your adaptability extends beyond magic; you have found a way to appeal to everyone’s best interests.”
Felicity paused; he was right – she had managed to earn the trust of her companions, however fragile it was. “I don’t see how you couldn’t cooperate for a short time,” she countered. “And besides, that is not useful in battle.”
“That’s right, leadership has no place in a fight,” Gale said with a sarcastic nod. “And leadership can easily be pawned off on any sod; Lae’zel would certainly forget her shallow disdain of me if you told her to.”
Felicity couldn’t help but smile; she took a tiny square of onion from the cutting board and flicked it at him. “Alright!” she muttered with a quiet laugh. “So you don’t believe the others trust in anyone but me. I still struggle to see how my tact outweighs having a superior caster, or fighter, in this mission. At the end of the day, if you end up slaughtering the camp immediately, it would be progress.”
Gale’s amusem*nt disappeared. “Assuming we aren’t overwhelmed and killed because of thoughtless actions.” He leaned towards her, his gentle voice hushed with sincerity. “I would respect your choice to take anyone else into the camp, but I do not think we should do this without you. Your versatility is a boon – a necessity.”
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. He saw something in her that she did not see in herself; he truly believed she was vital to his survival. She was touched, but more than that, shocked.
Satisfied with her speechlessness, Gale straightened. His face softened as he appraised her once more. “I rather like fighting by your side,” he said. “I object to your assertion that you are a strong mage only because you are adequate in a variety of styles; I have seen your thunder and your teeth rob enemies of life, while keeping the rest of us from losing ours. I would not want to stand against you.”
His gaze drifted from hers, and when he turned back to continue descaling a fish, Felicity got the impression he wanted to busy his hands to conceal his earnestness.
“Regardless of your point – if Shadowheart is a dedicated healer and Wyll is a potent weapon – your ability to span different abilities forces you to pay attention to your allies’ movements.” Gale paused. “I am trying to say I foresee a strong synchronicity between druid and wizard.”
She didn’t know why, but Felicity felt embarrassed in the face of his insights. She never doubted his sharp mind, but Gale was more observant than she gave him credit for – and realizing he was observing her made her feel laid bare, much like the fish he was cleaning. When she noticed her cheeks were warm, the druid returned to dicing vegetables.
I’ve been watching him with the same scrutiny; why should it fluster me to be on the receiving end?
After a short silence, she cleared her throat. “Alright, then. So who else should join me?”
Felicity flitted between uneasy dreams that brought beads of sweat to her brow. In some she was a little girl once more, and in others she was lost amid a sea of malicious foes. All had one commonality: the sensation of being watched by forces unseen.
She would never know whether it was her own restlessness or the stir of hot breath upon her neck that jerked her back into the world of consciousness. When her bright eyes flew open, a shadowy figure – not unlike those she dreamt of – hovered over her.
Felicity instinctively struck out with her fist, wincing as her hand met cartilage.
“sh*t!”
The distant campfire outlined the silhouette as he stumbled backwards, clutching his face.
“Astarion?” she gasped. Inexperienced with throwing punches, she gingerly held her bruised – possibly broken – knuckles as she clambered out of her small lean-to tent.
Astarion removed his hand from his nose to hold his palm out to her. A trickle of blood spilled over his upper lip. “No, no,” he insisted, speaking as quickly as words would allow, “it isn’t what it looks like. I swear. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed… Well, blood.”
When she took a step forward, he took a step back. Felicity’s face darkened as she examined him in the dim light; for all the attention she had paid to his words and furtive glances, she had not truly looked at him. She felt like a fool.
Between his slightly parted lips, a pair of sharp fangs gleamed where they caught the firelight. And there, plain on his neck, a pair of puckered scars. A vampire.
She had overlooked the features that separated him from other high elves by virtue of possessing her own fangs, horns, and tail. Her lip curled with disdain, both towards his secret and her own ignorance. “You were going to take mine? Were you going to kill me in my sleep, then?”
“Of course not!” Astarion shot back, his voice hushed. “I’ve never killed anyone. Well, not for food. I feed on animals; boar, deer…kobolds,” he added with a brief smirk. “But it isn’t enough – not if I have to fight. I feel so…weak.”
His crimson eyes were wide, and his breaths came quick and shallow. He is afraid.
“If I just had a little blood,” he murmured, taking a slow step closer, “I could think clearer. Fight better.” He took an unsteady breath. “Please.”
Felicity never took her gaze from him as she thought. This was the moment she had been waiting for: to catch him in a lie, to watch him betray their trust. Yet, as he stood before her, vulnerable and fearful of her rejection, she couldn’t help but feel compassion.
He was in desperate need of help, and she could see how it tortured him to ask. Her distrust of him was reflected back at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this could be the opportunity to forge a stronger companionship.
He was, after all, an invaluable ally in battle.
“Why didn’t you simply ask?” Felicity sighed, although she knew the answer.
Astarion’s tone was soft as he responded, “At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d run a stake through my ribs.” She bristled as she watched his mask of sly arrogance return. “No, I needed you to trust me – and you can trust me.”
“Can I?” she snapped. “It is hard to forget that you intended to take from me, and I shudder to think of the repercussions had I not woken up when I did.”
“I… I didn’t know how to go about it, and I’ll be honest, it was not the brightest idea I’ve ever had.” Astarion’s shoulders slumped for a moment before he squared them. “I apologize. I truly did not intend to do you harm.”
“Biting someone and drinking from them is harmful…but I will accept that you did not intend to do more harm than was necessary.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you bite me, will I wake up as one of you?”
“Gods, no. I am not a true vampire but a vampire spawn; all of a vampire’s hunger with few of their powers.”
Felicity stared at him for a moment longer. “I’ll allow it.” She walked over to the fire and took up a piece of kindling with a conveniently sharp point. “If I must trust your discretion with my life, you must trust mine with yours. If you do not stop when I say so, I will not hesitate to run you through.”
“Really? I-“Astarion eyed her improvised weapon nervously. “Of course. Not one drop more.” He gestured to her bedroll, regaining the suave composure that set Felicity’s nerves on edge. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”
She sighed and rolled her shoulders. Something told her this would be a defining moment, for better or for worse. But distaste for laying herself before him could not outweigh her desire to aid him. If she had strength to lend to her companions, she would lend it.
From where she lay on her back, Felicity watched as Astarion knelt at her side. The smug curve of his mouth made her stomach turn, however the tightness of his eyes brought her some comfort. No matter what exterior he decided to portray, he recognized the perilousness of this scenario.
She gritted her teeth and tilted her head away from him to bare her neck. And then he was upon her.
Astarion’s fangs stabbed into her tender flesh like a shard of ice, and her breath caught in her throat. She gripped the makeshift stake ever tighter, trembling as the sharp pain dulled into a steady, throbbing numbness. His lips and tongue greedily sucked at her lifeblood, his hands fervently grasping her shoulders – as if to hold her there.
The seconds passed with agonizing slowness.
How much is enough?
Felicity’s pulse spiked as her ears began to ring.
How much can I withstand?
“Enough.”
Her quiet command did not seem to break through his indulgence.
“Enough!” she cried.
“Hm? Mm!” Astarion’s mouth broke away from her wound, which she promptly clamped with her palm. “Yes, of course.”
Her sharp voice had not gone unnoticed; she could see movement within Gale’s tent.
With shaking hands, Felicity slowly sat up as he backed away and wiped the corner of his lips with his thumb, licking at the remnants.
“That… That was… Amazing.” When he met her gaze, he wore a crooked smile and a crazed glimmer in his eye. “My mind is finally clear… I feel strong. I feel…happy.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight,” she said tersely.
“Shouldn’t take long; so many people need killing.” Astarion glanced in Gale’s direction as the wizard warily peered at them.
Astarion got to his feet and turned away, but hesitated; he looked back over his shoulder, the triumphant grin gone. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”
Felicity glared at the vampire as he retreated into the dark night.
“Did he hurt you?”
Where to begin with this? The way Gale looked at her, it was clear he was concerned for the wrong reasons. Felicity blushed fiercely as she realized how it must have appeared; Astarion looming over her supine form and her yelling at him to stop.
“No,” she quickly replied. “Well…” His features darkened with an anger that surprised her, and she took her hand away from the bitemark.
“What?” he breathed. “He’s a vampire?” His eyes widened in a different kind of outrage. “And you let him drink from you?”
Their conversation was none too quiet, and she noticed other faces emerging from their resting places.
“Yes, I did,” Felicity quipped loudly. “And I would do the same for you, so please, if you have any earth-shattering secrets, now is a grand time to share them.”
Gale snorted derisively.
“This is a chat for the morning,” she muttered. “I need some rest.” Without waiting for a reply, she pulled the shoddy flap of canvas between them.
“Te curo,” she murmured, expending some of her magic to heal her throat and aching hand before curling up in her bedroll.
The dawn chorus woke her before dawn had crested the horizon. Felicity pressed her hand to her brow; a pounding headache resonated in her skull, and her limbs felt light and weak – exactly what she had wanted to keep from Astarion feeling. The irony was not lost on her.
The druid quietly slipped into the open and headed for the red tent on the opposite side of camp. The rogue, already awake – or still awake, perhaps – lounged on a pile of plush pillows. He gave her a wide smile when he noticed her approach.
“Good morning. How do you feel?”
Felicity came to sit next to him, questions burning in her mind. She spoke in a low voice, hoping to have him to herself for a short while before the others intruded with their objections. “Like someone drained me of a not-so-small volume of my blood.”
Astarion’s face softened. “It will pass.”
“I’m sure.” She pursed her lips and huffed. “I am still not pleased with your methods.”
He rolled his eyes. “I already apologized; what more do you want?”
“I want you to come to me if you need anything.” She searched his eyes, trying to glimpse the man behind the mask as she had him seen only hours before. “Clearly, I am amenable to surprising measures.”
To her dismay, he only smirked. “Oh, you’re such a sweetheart.”
“I am!” Felicity agreed, allowing herself a small smile. “After all, I am quite invested in our success.”
“I am glad you are being sensible about these…revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks…”
Astarion’s eyes flickered when their companions, led by Wyll, began to saunter in their direction. “Although there is still time.”
Felicity rose to stand between the Blade’s sour scowl and the pale elf. She knew she would have to defend him and her choice to trust him; it was no surprise that word had spread among them while she slept. This was no small event.
“So, we’re travelling with a vampire, are we?” Gale growled from over Wyll’s shoulder, pointing an accusing finger at the target of his ire. “Of course we are. A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful.”
“I just hope I don’t wake up in the night to fangs in my throat,” Wyll sniped.
Felicity crossed her arms. “You won’t,” she said firmly, suppressing how she doubted the weight of her promise. She was sure that the significance of her defence would not be lost on any of them – Astarion especially. “There were smoother ways for this to come out, but I have faith in Astarion.” She looked each of her companions in the face. “If you don’t have faith in him, have faith in me.”
Her certainty was met with a mix of shock and skepticism.
“Maybe we can get him to wear a bell to dissuade any nighttime prowling,” Shadowheart sneered, breaking the brief silence.
“I’m here in the spirit of openness and honesty. To work together as a team,” Astarion interjected snidely, and Felicity wished he wouldn’t speak in such a taunting drawl. “We’re all friends again, so shall we go? There is a long day ahead of us.”
She shot him a frown; she certainly was not finished with him. But she was surely not the only one with burning questions, and to say so openly would invite others to interrogate him.
Perhaps he was not merely dismissing the subject but trying to fend off that cross-examination. Perhaps he was more diplomatic than she believed him to be.
“We do,” Felicity agreed. “We can discuss this later.”
